The ground did not quake at her arrival, did not worship her toes upon the earth, but she did not need it to. The trumpets were sounding in her ears in brilliant cadence, the drums commanding their rolling bass with every touch of her paws to the earth. To her left slunk her knight draped in obsidian fur, silent and solemn, beady black eyes flicking about attentively. She had never expected to return to this cesspool of a land but, alas, here she was, soon again to be surrounded by the plebeians of this pitiful, dramatics-wrought realm. There was little she missed about this place. Though her heart yearned for the scent of salt and the feeling of mangrove roots upon her pads, she was a patient beast, and knew that her time in Ludicael, one way or another, would come and she would sink her paws into the silt of the river and remember Medusa's pelt pressed upon hers as they waded in the waters. She would curl in the den where she had birthed her children and remember when they were just pups, nursing at her stomach. Jupiter knew that she could not return to the past but maybe, just maybe, she could find a mote of it still dancing on the glowing waters of Lover's Mangrove. Nostrils flared and she halted, staying. Mercury drifted past for only a moment before pausing to glance behind him, and then withdrew back to her side at the flick of his counterpart's tail. She settled down carefully on her haunches, front paws resting at a respectable--but attention-requesting--distance from the border. After having wandered the borders of other packs--finding many new ones, large and small--this one was the one she chose to make her appearance on. She needed nothing more than information, and this quaint, partially-populated community would feed it to her, one way or another.

There is no bugle to herald her guest?s presence upon her threshold, nor is there the faintest indication that the queen?s own attendance is required; however, the enticing aroma that wafts through the silent atmosphere of her domain is signal enough to the phantom deity to unravel from the chasms of her forest to greet her guest. She maneuvers in silence, mismatched gaze only shifting once to devour the russet firebird lingering before her realm -- unflinching, observant, and accompanied by a miniscule beast { one of which the Elysius tyrant has never once encountered before }. She adorns an indifferent guise as she executes her dutiful approach, avid pupils scanning every inch of the unknown woman in silent scrutiny --- intrigued. ?Pretty,? she comments idly, although the tone of her voice suggests no incent to charm; the queen hardly possesses the faintest trace of lecherous desire, after all, it is only honesty which derives the rare compliment from decadent jaws. ?Artemis Elysius, Elysium tyrant,? the queen announces as she halts in her methodical stride, taking care not to encroach too far upon the other?s personal space. ?-- And what can I do for you??

While the woman had not sought out nor expected a queen, she could not help the smidgen of a smile that tugged at the corners her ebony lips as her celestial gaze took in the lifted posture that could belong only to a ruler. Her chipped ear flicked at the compliment in silent acknowledgement, eyes forever on the prize in her arrival here. Mercury stiffened momentarily at the lady's approach, his own old habits refusing to fade into death, but his tension was soothed at the brush of Jupiter's tail briefly upon his back in a familiar gesture of comfort. Recognition flickered in her eyes as the surname was spoken. Her gaze swept away for a moment as her mind briefly grasped for the name connected to it. "Morphine," came the words, tumbling out before the rest of the sentence formed, though she managed to maintain an even tone with its uttering. "Elysius. I've heard the family name before, always trailing after a woman by the name of Morphine." She paused, and then brought her dial back to face the lady. "Jupiter Illiadis, Sol of Ludi--" The wolf stopped herself, her own habits hitting her hard. Her chest seemed to seize within for a moment, like a knife wrenching in her gut, but she swallowed it down, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "My apologies. Rogue and native of Alacritia." After a short pause, she continued. "I've been absent from the lands for a while," she stated, scarred toes digging faintly into the earth, flesh of her jowls twitching ever-so-slightly to feel the small line of aged maimed tissue on her muzzle. After giving so much of her flesh and blood to protect her land, it was strange being both near it and without it. "I was curious as to if there was anything new I should know about it before venturing again. Dip my toes in to test the water, you could say." Affable but persuasive, her timbre offered the tyrant the respect she needed without passing herself off as a nonentity.

Abstract gaze cannot help but linger upon the firebird?s companion as its muscles tense defensively beneath taut flesh, seemingly a fervent guardian at the ankles of his master -- prepared to unleash whatever power he harbors within his miniscule frame upon the Elysius queen if she were to assert unwarranted hostility. And yet, the russet wraith soothes its frayed nerves with a simple caress to its spine, piquing the tyrant?s interest accordingly as she contemplates the unconventional spectacle unfurling before her own eyes; however, the questions that swarm the chasms of her pestilent mind are kept at bay, if not for anything but to avoid sounding like an inquisitive child. Impressions are paramount to the tyrant; she is a queen and demands to be looked upon as such --- with respect.



Her guest?s first sentiment forces the phantom to noticeably tense, triangular ears abruptly careening forth as trepidation flares within her broadened chest cavity -- though her exterior refrains from portraying any trace of the intensified emotion fluctuating within her in favor of maintaining her indifferent guise. The tyrant does not entirely believe her ears at first, though the repetition of her mother?s given moniker a second time deepens her interest in the russet woman?s presence, and her pallid skull slopes sideways as she regards her visitor with her unwavering attention --- rightfully earned. ?Morphine was my mother,? she informs, vocals uncharacteristically gentle for a carnage queen like she. Was. The ice queen was naught but a mere memory left to plague her, likely festering with maggots in perpetual decay six feet below.



Ah; but the intrigue the Elysius harbors towards her guest only intensifies as the woman reveals her name, and although the tyrant cannot pinpoint the reason behind the recognition which strikes her as Jupiter?s surname breaches the atmosphere, it is present nonetheless, and her brows knit neatly together at the center of her marred forehead as she ponders. She surpasses her own curiosities, however, as the firebird proceeds with her explanation, relaying upon eager ears of her desire for information that she might have missed during her absence. ?I must admit, I am no historian --? the tyrant begins, obliging the woman?s request without hesitation, ?-- but I do know that Valhalla was usurped. First, by me,? she admits with a sheepish grin, ?And again once it was reestablished. Recently, actually, by a woman whom I believe intends to construct an empire with her various pawns.? The tyrant has no way of knowing as to when this firebird fled Alacritian proximities, though she supposes she should enlighten her upon recent events, if anything. ?Isardis Armada -- he led a siege and reigned supreme over Glaciem -- no longer adorns his crown; he supposedly is retired, though I doubt it,? the ghost of a smirk elongates across her countenance, for although her last encounter with the albino beast had not been a pleasant reunion, she still finds favor towards his malevolent mannerisms. ?-- And then there is Covari, the central pack of the would-be empress. You could say that there are a few packs who seek its eradication.?

It had been a great length of time since she and her companion had been so thoroughly scrutinized. She felt raw under those searching, bi-colored eyes--optics that reminded her of one of her daughter's. Mercury returned the scrutiny, feeling ever-unbound to the laws of the strange lupine creatures he'd immersed his existence in. Should Jupiter ever need to recall any aspect of the tyrant's appearance in a lapse of careless memory loss, the Sol knew that she had a thorough image and scent of the femme in his conscience. A dreadful verb touched her ears, one that she herself had used many times, and she observed the tension that suddenly crowded the alabaster mistress' form. Was. Immediately, her gaze averted, head dipping down in respect and regret. "My sincerest regards," is all she feels entitled to say. She did not know these wolves and would not act like she did. It was not--and probably never would be--her place to offer tender reassurances or poetic condolences. To Jupiter, it seemed like this land truly was falling apart. She wondered what state Ludicael was in. She hadn't allowed herself near the mangroves--the celestial knew that if she scented her beloved lands, the smell would draw her to the heart of the trees and into the sorely-missed waters. Eager audits drank the info provided, taking them with a grain of salted caution. Though the woman communicated a sense of honesty to Jupiter, her time leading Ludicael had made her naturally cautious of information offered to her. Slight surprise crosses her features momentarily at the news of Valhalla. Chrysanthe and Epiphron glide through her memory, but only in passing. As far as she had known, the Valhallan monarchy had been in place for generations. Its overthrow was the first dose of change in this land that--surprisingly--struck her fancy. In her final days as Ludicael's alpha, she had sought Isardis' best interests, and they had been turned against the lawful pack. The development was interesting but she urged her mind to give the woman her undivided attention, and listened closely to the rest of her words. A fond smile touched her lips at the mention of Isardis. She'd taken a liking to the crafty king. From her throat bubbled a small chuckle she could not retain. "Retire? If you weren't talking about a 'supreme rule' over Glaciem, I'd almost think that we were thinking of different people." A breath of a pause, and then she rumbled bemusedly, "The moon doesn't merely retire from its chase of the sun." Covari. There had been four (now three) unidentified pack scents she had discovered on her rounds and Jupiter idly wondered which of them belonged to this... Covari. Triangle pillars tilted forward with interest. "Eradication?" Interest piqued her tone and for the briefest of moments, her blood pumped more fiercely through her veins, an itch not felt since her last visit to the battlefield prickling the pads of her paws. Mercury felt the shift that was unnoticeable to any other, beady black eyes sweeping up to try and capture hers, but Jupiter's gaze was locked onto Artemis, another small rumble of amusement sounding in her chest. "I guess you could say I know a few things about eradication." His throat collapsing under her jaws. Her weight shifted. Sunset staining her fur. Tail flicked with anticipation. Distressed cries in the distance. Lips parted to speak. "Go on."

The Illiadis wraith harbors an aura of reverence at the mention of death, and the tyrant?s lips bewitch with the ghost of a forced smile as her guest?s somber sentiment fragments the tension compacted deeply beneath the surface of her hardened exterior. Not a word of thanks is offered in response to Jupiter?s considerate commentary, though her pallid skull bobs halfheartedly in acknowledgement as her own silver and amethyst gaze averts haphazardly from the premises of the firebird?s own, wavering distractedly about their surroundings as she nullifies the weight of her own thoughts. It is only once the conversation shifts to more formal standards that the Elysius? pupils return to fixate upon Jupiter?s own, the mild interest evidently pooling beneath the vibrancy of her violet gaze --- enchantingly.



Once the topic of the former ice king of Glaciem is breached, the phantom deity takes notice of the shift in her guest?s facial expression, recognition engraved into the russet folds of the woman?s countenance. It is obvious that the celestial wraith knows Isardis { or, at least, of him }, and Artemis finds herself incapable of fathoming how she had not encountered this woman before; she was formerly the albino?s little ?bludgeon,? after all -- though Isardis had charmed many into his proximities and her status within Glaciem had never been paramount, so the idea isn?t entirely farfetched. A smirk extends across her corrupted visage at the other?s claim and shared doubt; surely it was not in Isardis? character to lay like a snake in the grass, and the phantom has no doubt that the albino still has schemes brewing within the depths of his obsessive mind.



The wry grin contorting her features only elongates as Jupiter?s apathy dissipates { however minutely it is } at the mention of eradication, the tips of her own decadent incisors unsheathed from velvet lips in a smile so haunting. ?Eradication, yes. I suppose there are a few of us who are enticed by the prospect of destroying a nation,? she confirms, vocals a bedeviled croon that scream of her malevolent intentions. She says no more on the matter, though dares to venture forward in the slightest, toes teasing her own borders as she encloses the distance lingering between them to a mere few feet. ?Are you allured by such prospects as bloodshed, Miss Illiadis?? she questions with feigned innocence; however, the expression laden upon her countenance tells the tried tale of belligerence.

Ivories were shown in the form of a grin and Mercury, the most sensible one of the bonded pair, shifted with relative unease. Words like honey dripped into her ear and Jupiter lifted her chin habitually, regarding the woman with careful celestial eyes, noting the shift in the atmosphere and the anticipatory chill of her spine. Having spent most of her life under a personality not her own--and being mated to the serpent queen--Jupiter knew when she was being played. But today, she was willing to be the instrument. Strings were plucked with every word snatched from the air by seeking ears and the harp of her conscience sang in response to her words. A deep breath cycled through her cavernous lungs and she scrutinized the other for a moment longer before allowing her own grin to crack across her features. Delicately, nearly in the manner of a cat, a paw raised to ebony lips, salmon tongue stroking out to honor the tooth scars that mottled her once-broken toes with a kiss. An unmatched gleam flourished in her eyes as the femme drew close and her own haunches rose from the earth, tail swaying with interest. Mercury rose as if attached by the strings of a puppeteer, ever uneasy in the presence of Jupiter's odd interactions with the same sex. "Perhaps," she mused quietly, feeling her arsenal of scars simply itch. "What does the alabaster tyrant have to offer in the area of this bloodshed?" came her tempted inquiry. Her mind echoed, then: What's in it for me? for if she were to allow herself to be played, it would be on both of their terms--queen, to queen.

As she encroaches further upon the personal space of the firebird { and her diminutive guardian }, the details upon the Illiadis? body becomes more prominent to a keen eye -- a multitude of scars stitched variously into the plains of her russet flesh that relay the tale of a diligent warrior. Despite her youth, the disfigurement of her own pale flesh tells a similar tale, each laceration riddling her hide serving as physical testimonies of her conquests and savage tactics; perhaps the Illiadis and Elysius were cut from the same { hostile } cloth. If such were the case, the firebird?s thirst for bloodshed is kept well concealed as the woman turns an indifferent amethyst gaze upon her own mismatched, a singular word of tentative quality streaming from russet jaws, intriguing the tyrant accordingly. She refrains from responding, however, until the celestial wraith voices her inquiry, touching upon the subject of compensation.



A soft, enchanting chuckle erupts from wicked jaws; it is evident to the paladin that her guest is not one who is easily swayed by her silver tongue -- good. ?And in truth, nothing that I believe will interest you,? the tyrant confesses, shoulders briefly rolling in a shrug. ?If impressions ring true, you are not one to B O W, are you? Any rank I could offer you would just be an empty title in a pack that is meaningless to you.? It is only a speculation and yet the tyrant feels confident with such assumptions; this firebird does not appear to be an incompetent dreg as were the majority of those residing within Alacritia -- but is she a ROSE among negligent thorns? ?So I offer you nothing, Miss Illiadis. If the adrenaline rush and glory earned through battle is not tempting enough, then what is?? Oh, the tyrant knows no greater pleasure than that of carnage, of annihilation. She has caused it before, and she?d be damned if she?d stop while she?s ahead. ?My allies and I might be a unit bound through the same purpose, though I guarantee you every man will fight for themselves upon the battlefield.? -- and they always would. ?They all fight to WIN, Miss Illiadis. And so will I.?

Something about this woman simply clicked with her conscience. There was an understanding, an edge, a thrill to conversing with this woman that she could not define. Words struck her audits once more and they did not coddle or kiss. Her grin widened at the dialogue offered and the phoenix rumbled bemusedly. "Once a queen, always a queen," she remarked neutrally, more or less saying it to herself as her gaze grew thoughtful. She held her tongue from saying more, content to listen to the woman's pleasant voice, devouring her words with both muted entertainment and mutual respect. "If the rest of your members are anything like yourself, then your pack is far from meaningless to me," she spoke carefully, choosing her words with caution--though this was so because she was more concerned with conveying her interests accurately rather than saying what the woman wanted to hear. "My heart will always lie in Ludicael's mangroves--my Ludicael's mangroves. I will not deny that." Mercury shifted at her paws, his eyes cast downwards at the mention of the place where he was raised. "I fought for it more than anyone else in these forsaken lands. And with every opponent that appeared, with every challenger that stepped up to mock me, I fought to win and I won." She paused, but only briefly, a deep but tense breath cycling through her lungs, brought on by her own anger at those she had thought she had known. "Every day of my life, since I was born, I have fought to win. And the battles I now look to fight with you, if you will have me, will be no different." Her tail flicked, gaze turning off into the distance, to the northeast, where she could feel her soul tugging her. "As much as my paws drive me to march there and reclaim what is mine right now, at this very moment, I know that good things will come to those who wait. For now..." Her gaze returned to the Elysius wraith, offering a dip of her head in acknowledgement to the tyrant's authority here. "...my best interests lie with yours."

Although it is abrupt, the phantom queen finds no sense of shock seeping through pallid pores as the firebird admits to the prestige that previously bestowed her head -- that a crown had once haloed her russet temples. Rather, it warrants the undeniable aura of confidence that shrouds the Illiadis wraith and confirms the Elysius deity?s suspicions, a grin she cannot surpass unfolding across the premises of her porcelain countenance to mirror the expression laden upon her guest?s own. The woman strokes the already-overfed ego which lurks within the tyrant with a vague compliment, though an incent to CHARM is not present; and the phantom?s smirk only deepens. The wry emotion dissipates entirely { respectfully }, however, as the woman relays upon eager ears the tale of conquest -- tales which intensify the intrigue she harbors towards the once-monarch. Her ambition is present -- tangible, and the aspiration to conquer even more so; traits of which the Elysius can only admire.



As Jupiter?s speech draws to a close, the phantom?s pupils linger for a moment longer than usual upon the firebird?s own in brief consideration { although she had breached her ultimate verdict long before }, before robust appendages shuffled sideways, granting the Illiadis room to pass beyond her mantle of shadows. ?I will have you,? she confirms, the ghost of a smirk flickering across her corrupted countenance as a singular forelimb extends in invitation to the celestial wraith. ? -- And I will watch when you take back your iron t h r o n e.?

--- exeunt artemis?

Mercury pressed gently against his companion's leg, quelling the agitation tucked in her heart with the simple gesture, his eyes infinitely glued to the moonlight banshee before him. The fur that had began to slowly and minutely rise upon her spine relaxed without an outward inclination of the shift present. She cast an appreciative glance down at the tasmanian devil, who had been quiet throughout. Jupiter offered the woman a smile as she was met with acceptance. The cadence of trumpets in her mind blared and she could nearly see the gate of opportunity here opening before her, the bare locking mechanisms shifting their complexities to swing open the doors to a redeemed future as Artemis stepped aside, setting forth an invitation. The phoenix straightened, accepting the welcome into the lifeless forest, and then couldn't suppress the grin that cracked across obsidian lips at the tyrant's remark. "I'll see to it that you do so with your own crown still in possession," Jupiter responded, taking her first step towards the darkness, embracing the shadows of her own ambition. [ exit jupiter. ]